Artemis Mourning
by Emrysnyx
Summary: Artemis and her eldest companion reflect. Tragedy because I'm overdramatic.


The companions of Artemis are special. The goddess does not choose them for their wit and wisdom, like Athena does, nor indeed for their beauty and sensuality, like Aphrodite. She does not choose the regal girls who are Hera's favorite, or the earthy, sensible girls whom Demeter cherishes.

Artemis chooses girls with spirit. She is the Huntress, after all. Her maidens have strong souls and bright eyes, teenagers in love with life, good and bad. These girls are unique. Only a handful chosen over the centuries.

But even these girls hesitate tonight. They're fearless, true, but no one in their right mind would disturb Artemis on a night like this.

She's in a stormy mood. You can tell by the moon. Selene may be the moon herself, waxing and waning, full and new, but Artemis is Selene's guardian. She is the one who paints the moon onto the night sky, who rules the night. And tonight the moon is small, green and watery, hiding behind the clouds.

Eventually, the eldest goes up. This young woman's name is Adrastea, and she is several thousand years old. Adrastea is Artemis's favorite, maybe because she remembers the old days, when the gods were still cherished.

Adrastea knows about Orion. She knows how close the goddess was to giving up her immortality. She knows how much Artemis wonders, about love, about mortality, about lost chances. She has seen the tears on her face, heard the harsh, wracking sobs and little cries of pain.

Tonight Artemis is crying softly, one silver teardrop following another on her moon-white face. Her face, that of a teenager, one of perhaps sixteen, is solemn, and contains a wisdom and pain far beyond that of a sixteen year old. The goddess is just staring to Orion's belt. It is bright in the sky tonight. Is that what is upsetting Artemis? Adrastea wished she knew a little more about love, if only to help her beloved Mistress.

"Diana?" Adrastea is the only one to ever call her that, a remnant from _those_ days.

And then the goddess begins to talk, and her voice is darker and more weary than Adrastea has ever heard.

"You know, girls these days are different. They used to pray to me for protection, even the rich ones. Especially, it seems, the rich ones. Protection from a bad marriage, a bad father, a bad situation. They would ask me to save them, to fight for them. They'd play their children's games as long as they could, drawing out their innocence like clay till it was spread so thin that it became transparent. I remember them staying up late, a cluster of them, teaching themselves to read by candlelight.

These girls, whom I see in these cities in their limos, do not act like that anymore. Now they want to move on, grow up. 'Silly kids, still playing their silly little games,' they think, and go on to spread a rumor or meet a boy. They do not need protection. They fight their own battles, petty fights over nonsense. They do not want to read. It is too difficult for them to read. Where did my maidens go? Why did they change Adrastea?

I remember you as a mortal. Escaping a husband who was never home. A husband who never cared. Almosty forty years older than you. You never cried. You just begged me to help. And tried to help others. Teaching those girls to read. Always fighting.

But you were lucky. I helped you. There were many, so many, I could not help. So many I could not save. And not just girls. I couldn't save him either..." And her voice trailed away, the tears falling faster.

Adrastea could sense something far more than that in the goddess's speech. She could sense the lost love, so close and yet so far. She could feel the pain of immortality as well. The companions of Artemis could die, but they rarely did so. The gods could not. They were trapped, tied to life until the world's end. And Adrastea finds droplets on her cheeks too.

For some of the gods this was not a problem. Aphrodite could mingle with the humans, and love still held such a great sway that Venus still had power. Athena could find her home in the great libraries of the world. Intelligence and education, the arts and industry, they all still thrived. Zeus would have a role as long as they did, for he controlled his family, dangerous as they were. Demeter still made the crops grow. Ares still had his wars, Apollo still had music. Hera still had marriage, and her role as Queen. Poseidon, though plagued by trash, still had his Atlantis, his seas. Most of the gods were still enjoying power, though it was indirect.

But Artemis, Diana, the Huntress, the Protector, she belonged to an older world, fading now, of innocence and simple beauty and nature. To the shade of a tree, a fawn's hooves, the grassy hills. She belonged to the shadows, to lost love. To the night.

And as the girls watched the stars together, they knew the sun would soon rise, washing over them with its vibrancy. But the pain would not be extinguished like the old world, like the moon, like Orion, like their tears. It would last forever.


End file.
